


37b

by blythechild



Series: Hotels are morally questionable [3]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, Angsty Schmoop, Bureaucracy, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Drinking & Talking, Fear of Discovery, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Guilt, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Homosexuality, Romantic Friendship, Rules, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Shame, Shooting, Workplace Relationship, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch allows his fears to end his secret relationship with Reid. And then he realizes he's made a huge mistake.</p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. It was created as a personal amusement. This story contains adult themes, language, and sexual content, and should not be read by those under the age of 18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up to Just Right and A Little Better. Click on the "Hotels are morally questionable" link to get to them.  
> I'm sad to say that this installment doesn't involve any hotels at all, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Interoffice romances were discouraged and relationships between those with differing ranks were strictly forbidden. There had been exceptions over the years (Dave Rossi seemed particularly immune to this edict) but the opinion, passed from the Director on down, was that the Bureau set a higher standard that did not recognize the human failing of gravitating towards others who understood the unique stresses of the job. The language used in the FBI Code of Conduct Manual was much stronger and more condemning than that, but that’s what it boiled down to: leave your personal life at the front doors. Damn Hoover and his juvenile, institutionalized fear of sex.

Of course, it was almost impossible to enforce, and nearly every Section Chief knew that and had an uncomfortable story or two about liaisons happening in their departments that they chose to ignore. It was just natural to make connections to people with whom you spent so much time, and so often that time involved a certain amount of danger. The longer you lasted in this business, the more you needed the comfort of those connections. It wasn’t realistic to think that you could spend day after day wading through cult propaganda or underground snuff films or serial killer trophies and then go home to a _Leave It To Beaver_ lifestyle. He knew from experience that it was too much compartmentalization to ask of anyone. That way led to madness and personal delirium that produced questionable choices. 

He’d tried to bury it deep but he still remembered the Christmas party where he had enough beer to convince himself that screwing Kate Joyner in the copy room was a justifiable way to blow off the stress of three bad cases in a row and an unsuccessful round of fertility treatments with Haley. She understood what it was at the time as she smoothed her skirt and folded her nylons into her purse, his guilt already becoming apparent in his inability to look at her. She told him to go home to his wife and not to worry about it in that clipped accent of hers - she knew that he hadn’t meant anything by it in the first place. _That_ made him feel worse than his guilt towards Haley because she was right: Kate could’ve been anyone that night. And now he was doing it again. 

Hotch watched Reid from across the bullpen as he conferred with Rossi on some paper that he had bamboozled the senior agent into co-authoring with him. Reid was engrossed - fingers gesturing enthusiastically over the papers he held and eyes flashing to Dave as they talked. It ignited this slow ache deep inside when he watched Reid being _Reid_. He could be infectious; Hotch was sure that Reid was unaware of how he affected others. Even Rossi seemed carried away by his current excitement. Hotch felt the pull of gravitation that the Code of Conduct Manual said they should all be immune to. He’d been feeling it for months and, unlike Kate Joyner, Reid wasn’t easy to shake off. Reid wanted to talk about what they were doing - it had been an ongoing battle since they first started this - but Hotch failed to see the point telling himself that _this_ was just another unavoidable connection that nonetheless should go assiduously unrecognized. It would end - good things in his life always did - and then, where would all of that talk have gotten them? As he thought that, pinpoints on his body heated beneath his suit, places where three nights earlier Reid had marked him with his lips and teeth and hands. They pulsed as one, as if they had a voice, telling him that _this_ was different - the feeling was so much more than conditional comfort. But how could it be when every night he showed up at Reid’s place, his driving impulse was to end it and go back to the way things were _supposed to be?_ It just never worked out that way because Reid was contagious. And the way Hotch felt when Reid held him down and worked his rawness to the surface, the look of pure delight on his face as he did it, the satisfaction Hotch felt afterwards curled in Reid’s arms - how on earth could he walk away from that?

But, 37b. And these things weren’t meant to last. And the sanctity of the Bureau might fail entirely if a Unit Chief fell for a subordinate and they still tried to work together. So sayeth the regulations.

Reid looked up suddenly and caught Hotch staring. He smiled broadly and then turned to Rossi for a moment. The gravitational pull was becoming too much; Hotch used every part of himself to remain leaning against his office doorway instead of walking towards the source of his secret joy. In the end, the pull worked in reverse.

“Hotch, we need your opinion on this…” Reid called out as he and Rossi circled the bullpen to Hotch’s office.

Hotch watched them walk, focusing on the way Reid’s clothes seemed to hold him in check against the world: his thin tie leading to a narrow vest, the vest harnessing the dress shirt and pants that all emphasized the holster sitting on his hip. Hotch throbbed in response, wanting to brush the edge of all that restraint with his fingers and know that he could set it free if he chose. But all he did was straighten his shirt cuffs, ensuring that the bite on his inner right wrist was hidden from view, and set his features to the scowl that everyone expected from him.


	2. Chapter 2

Their breathing was monstrous in the dark but it must have just been his perception; the soft whoosh of passing cars outside could be heard over them. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself not to think about why he’d had that thought. Was it because _he_ felt what they were doing was monstrous? Was he that invested in keeping it secret? He took a deep breath and then willed himself to move, gently sliding out of the bed as if Reid wouldn’t notice.

“Aaron, don’t. Just this once.”

“I’ve got to go, Spence.” He fumbled around for his clothes and ignored the hurt in Reid’s voice.

“You don’t, and you know it.” The arguments always started this way, with Reid speaking softly and his words feeling like a kick to the head. “Would it really be so awful to spend the night here?”

 _It would_ , he thought. _It would be awful to wake up and realize that I could never, ever go home again. But one day I’d have to. One day this will end…_

“I have a child, you know.” He didn’t mean it to sound as condescending as it did.

“A child who’s in the very capable care of your sister-in-law tonight. A child who probably isn’t being done any favors by keeping this a secret from him.”

“You think that I should tell an eight year old that I’m having sex with his favorite ‘uncle’? You think that’s a good parenting strategy, do you?” And now his condescension had taken on a bitterness.

“Don’t use Jack as a shield in this, Aaron,” Reid snapped. “He’ll have to find out sometime.”

“No, he won’t.” Hotch replied without thinking, then cringed when he realized that he’d let his intentions slip. There was no way that Reid would miss it. He got up quickly and stepped into his pants.

“He won’t.” Reid breathed in the darkness and Hotch kept his eyes on his fingers as he buttoned his shirt. He didn’t want to watch Reid’s face as he walked through everything that they _weren’t_ saying. “Because you don’t foresee a future where the information is relevant.”

Hotch sighed and scrubbed his face, still turned away from the bed. “Spencer… let’s not do this now.” _Not yet… just give me a little bit more, just a little bit longer…_

“When would be a better time, then?” Reid’s voice cracked and Hotch’s stomach sympathetically lurched into his throat. “Perhaps you should tell me that this is temporary _during sex_ next time. Or maybe you could explain how you’re never gonna acknowledge this or come out of the closet the next time you come over and tell me how much you need me.”

“Spencer, I can’t _do this_ right now!” Hotch rounded on him, finally, irrationally hating Reid for pushing this moment into existence even though it had been lying between them for months.

Reid sat up straight amongst the tangled sheets, an indigo outline in the shadows of the bedroom. “This isn’t a news bulletin to either of us. You haven’t been able to talk about it from day one. If you can’t address it now, when your silence threatens everything, you never will.”

“Are you giving me an ultimatum?” Hotch growled.

“If that’s what it takes to get your damned attention, yeah.”

“Don’t ask me to choose between my entire life and you, Spencer!”

“Well, thanks for that unnecessary blow to my ego, but that _wasn’t_ what I was asking, Hotch.” Reid hugged his knees into his chest and ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair as he sighed. “I was asking you to fold me _into_ your life, or to let me go.”

Hotch felt the world around him slow almost to stillness as the implication of Reid’s words settled. _This_ was the moment that everything hinged on, he thought, and it was as though his consciousness had reduced to half speed in order to give him more time to make his decision. And yet it only took an instant to realize that he was going to make the wrong one.

“I can’t.” His body sagged, all hope suddenly drained from him.

The traffic continued its soft hiss from the street below but all Hotch could really hear was the wet, erratic breathing that Reid made. It sounded as though he was tearing away vital parts of himself to prevent from yelling. Something delicate inside Hotch died at that noise, never to be resurrected again.

“Well,” Reid’s voice was low but Hotch could feel it shaking. “I guess that’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“Don’t be an ass, Aaron! This wasn’t temporary for me…”

_It’s not temporary for me either, but it’s just too painful to give into it knowing that one day it’ll be over._

“You’ve switched to the past tense,” Hotch whispered. 

Reid’s shadow twitched in the dark as his head snapped towards Hotch. “Don’t come by here anymore.”

“Spencer…”

“Go. Now, please.”

Part of him wanted to flee like he always did - the same part of him who had been ashamed of fucking Kate and who had held onto Haley past the point of all sense. For a relatively intelligent man, he had abominable personal insight. But another part of him wanted to stay and fight. Perhaps caving into Reid’s allure in that hotel a year ago had aligned nicely with his history of personal miscues, but unlike the others, Reid always made him feel lighter, not flattened by the domino effect of his self-criticism and guilt. He wanted to be the guy who could introduce _a boyfriend_ to his son. He wanted to be the leader who would fight to keep his career _and_ his relationship. He wanted to be a man who could thumb his nose at 37b. He wanted to be the person who told Spencer Reid that he was everything to him.

But he didn’t do that. He split himself down the middle and left that part of him who _wanted_ to be different behind in Reid’s apartment as he collected his things and let himself out. He hunched down on the top stair of the landing outside the apartment to put on his shoes but just ended up staring at them instead. After a minute of silence, as the old building creaked and there was no dramatic attempt to prevent Hotch from leaving, he broke and covered his eyes as he stifled the hitching in his chest. There was no grand force that was going to pull he and Reid back together. Life didn’t work that way; you made decisions and then lived with the results. He could’ve made a different decision - he wanted to - but he wasn’t strong enough, and he’d have to learn to live with that.


	3. Chapter 3

He watched Reid all the time. Perhaps he always had but now he was just maddeningly aware of it. Now it felt necessary and predatory, because it was the only contact he had any longer. He had gone ahead and reassigned Reid’s role in his life, and it seemed as though it happened without his conscious consent. But, of course, inaction could appear non-consensual if one was in denial about it. He became irrationally resentful of the instincts that had staged this coup d’etat, which seemed to disregard both his and Reid’s permission entirely. Why had he done this? Why couldn’t he understand the choice he’d made? 

He was a straight man - a reluctant bachelor who had always tried to be gentle, thoughtful, and considerate unless it was impossible. He was a man who had put his family history in a box and locked it away. He was a man who had accepted the failure of his marriage as a lack of attentiveness on his part rather than a fundamental denial of something in him that he couldn’t even name. He was also a leader who walked first through the furnace of depravity that they all negotiated, clearing a safe path for the others. They looked to him for direction and reassurance; dependency was an inevitable side effect of loyalty. 

In short, his inappropriate thoughts about _any_ team member were just an aggregate of personality traits and the burden of leadership, nothing more. It wasn’t _true_ and therefore had to be fought against. This was just the Kate Joyner thing all over again and he had walked away from that successfully. Reid was no different. Hotch was just much lonelier than he thought and he would have to deal with that when he had the time.

But his eyes found Reid talking in the St. Louis PD squad room, or cornering a suspect in an interrogation cell in Portland, or stooping over a body in a field outside of Sacramento, or rubbing his temple as he squinted over paperwork at his desk, and Hotch could _feel_ his sense of control eroding. He couldn’t shake off Reid’s grip even though Reid barely looked at him anymore. Sometimes his frustration snapped out angrily before he could stop himself like when the lead detective on the Brandauer case routinely talked over Reid and referred to him as _Mister_. Hotch had calmly informed the cop that his colleague held three doctorates and should he wish to demur on the title of ‘Doctor’ while working the case, that Reid himself would inform everyone of that decision. The detective had gotten the message but so had everyone else. Reid had actually looked slightly appalled at the outburst. Later, when Reid pulled him away from the others and said simply “You have to stop this - it was your decision”, Hotch wanted to bellow that it wasn’t, that he felt he had no say in this whatsoever. But that was just an excuse, and in the end, his right brain swallowed his left and dragged him under the swell of resentment that he didn’t have the fortitude to aim at himself.

By the time Hotch got around to publicly dressing Reid down for his dangerous gunpoint negotiation in Tulsa, or their blowout argument about the profile in the Langston case, it had become too obvious for anyone to politely ignore any longer. He was unraveling and he didn’t know how to stop it; this was turning into everything he didn’t want. 

When Rossi walked into his office late one evening with a bottle of single malt and two glasses, Hotch knew that the team had already discussed this conversation in detail.

“What’s going on with you and Reid?” He dropped the glasses on the desk with a satisfying thump before filling them both liberally. Rossi chinked his glass against Hotch’s and then sank into a chair opposite the desk with relief and an expectant arch of his eyebrows.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That? Right there? That’s bush league denial - don’t do that. It’s insulting.”

Hotch sighed and picked up his drink. “What is the team saying?”

“This isn’t high school, Aaron. They aren’t saying much, but everyone is concerned. _Everyone_ gets along with Reid… he’s kinda hard to hate. So, what’s the deal?”

Hotch let the single malt swirl in his mouth, picking up the notes of cedar and honey before swallowing. “You’re right: Reid’s impossible to hate. But I’m not.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

Hotch shifted in his chair and thought about the strained breathing Reid made when he told Hotch to get out and never come back. He settled on telling Rossi a half-truth. “I ask these people to sacrifice a lot to do this job. Reid told me not long ago that he’s reached his limit… that his learned association of me held negative connotations. It was a statement with a lot of five dollar words in it that basically said he’d come to resent me.”

“So you decided to embrace that completely even though it’s obviously bullshit?”

“It’s not bullshit. There’s no denying that I’m usually in the neighborhood when terrible things happen to these guys.” Or that he _is_ the terrible thing that happens to them…

“That’s like stating that the ships in Pearl Harbor got bombed in 1941 because they were painted grey. C’mon, Aaron, you’re smarter than this…”

_I need him, Dave. I need him and I can’t have him. And the reasons why are so stupid and simple, yet so agonizingly real that I can’t move forward or back. It’s ferocious and I’m scared down to my bones about it. What do I do other than push back against it? I don’t know what else to do…_

Hotch let out a complex sigh and swirled the remnants in his glass. “Let it go, Dave. It’ll work itself out eventually.”

Now it was Rossi’s turn to sigh as he stared back at Hotch in the office’s dim light. “No, it won’t, but at least that’s a lie that we all fall for at some point. Things never work _themselves_ out, people do. And if you let others decide for you, you very rarely get what you want.”

Hotch gripped his glass tightly to still the shaking that had started to grow in him. After a long moment, he placed his glass back on the desk and shoved it towards Rossi. 

“I think I need another.” It was all he could make himself say.


	4. Chapter 4

Hotch knocked gently on Mateo Cruz’s office door. He didn’t want to call too much attention to himself but also needed this to have a semblance of formality. Cruz looked up from his computer and smiled. Hotch was still getting accustomed to a Section Chief who actually _liked_ him.

“Hello, Aaron.”

“Sir, I was wondering if you had a moment?”

“Absolutely. It’d be a nice reprieve from the torpor of Oversight reports. I’m certain that those people feel they get paid by the word…”

Hotch allowed himself a brief smile as he entered. “Yes, sir. Oversight has always given me the impression that they’ve sworn an oath to ‘Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity, and Pedantry’.”

Cruz laughed and waved him towards a seat. “That would make quite an update to the crest in the lobby. And, Aaron? Please stop calling me ‘sir’ - you used to do this job…”

“It was only temporary.”

“Nevertheless, it’s Matt, okay?”

“Okay.”

“So, what’s up?”

Hotch breathed a deep sigh. “I have a 37b situation.”

Cruz sat back in his chair and gave Hotch a knowing look. “Is this something I really need to know about? Frankly, I don’t give a damn about who’s doing what to whom around here unless it affects cases. The regulation is laughable.”

“It is, and normally I wouldn’t bring something like this to a Section Chief’s attention, but this incident is… complicated. I need advice.”

“Does it involve a disparity in rank?”

Hotch nodded.

“Ah, I see.” Cruz started fiddling with his pen. “Why don’t you give me the broad strokes of it… no names, okay?”

“Sure.” Hotch steeled himself. “A senior and junior agent have become involved. The senior agent has direct purview over the junior agent’s actions in the field. They’ve kept it discreet and professional up to now, but you and I both know that it’s just a matter of time until a situation arises which either ‘outs’ them or compromises the senior agent’s command authority.”

“Is the relationship romantic? I mean, if it’s just physical…”

“I’m assuming it is. Romantic, I mean.”

“You said that they’ve kept things professional.”

“Yes, but this isn’t just an office job. There are situations in the field where… well, shit happens, Matt, for lack of a more eloquent phrase.”

“It does.” Cruz nodded and stared at Hotch without speaking for a moment. “Are you concerned that the senior agent won’t be able to make the tough call when the time comes?”

Hotch pinched his nose.

Cruz sighed. “Are you concerned about fallout when the relationship ends?”

Hotch kept his professional mask in place and nodded, yes.

“Then transfer one of them out.”

“They work very well together. Let’s face it, that’s probably why they got together in the first place.” Hotch thought Reid’s contribution was irreplaceable, and only part of that had to do with his extraordinary intelligence.

“Aaron, it sounds like you’re looking for my tacit agreement to keep them on the same team while also acknowledging the inherent risk that their intimacy poses.” Cruz arched an eyebrow at him and Hotch looked to the carpet in embarrassment when he realized that he’d been so transparent.

“I guess that I’m trying to find a scenario where this works out for them without upsetting the status quo.”

Cruz leaned heavily on his desk blotter. “I don’t think that’s a realistic expectation.”

“No,” Hotch murmured, feeling a little queasy. “I guess I knew that before I sat down here.”

“Listen, I’m gonna invoke my bureaucratic right to shove this decision back on you. You know the people involved and what they’re capable of, and it’s obvious that you have as much distaste for this regulation as I do, so I know that you’ll consider your choice significantly before you act. You have three choices: do nothing, separate them, or force them to end the affair so that they can remain in the same unit. It’s that simple.”

“It’s not that simple,” Hotch snapped before he could stop himself. “I feel as though I’m asking them to choose between the job and a real life, with the inherent emphasis being on _the job_.”

Cruz leaned back and stared again. “You feel pretty strongly about this.”

“I’ve been doing this work for a long time and I know that you need a strong anchor to keep you from getting lost in it. The victories alone aren’t enough to provide that - _people_ are the things that keep you grounded. Sadly, the reality is that only people who understand the work will ever really be the ones who can be there for you. Outsiders don’t get it, and I have the broken marriage to prove it.”

Hotch leaned forward a little.

“We need these agents - good agents - to do this work. But then we tell them that the people who can save them, those who will keep them going are dangerous distractions. We tell them that they have to learn to live a half life and that they should be satisfied with that - as if we’ve all been inducted into some sort of cult that promises rewards for the sacrifice in the next life… It’s ludicrous.”

Cruz watched Hotch for a long time after his speech, staring in silence. He tapped his pen against the blotter twice and then swiveled his chair with a creak of expensive leather.

“My Dad told me a story about a couple of spies he knew when he worked at the Agency. There, like here, internal relationships were banned, but spy work is intimate by nature so things happened regardless of politics.” Cruz smiled a little as he spoke; he clearly had no affection for bureaucratic maneuvering and yet that was nearly half of his job as Section Chief. Hotch had a desire to trust him, but knew from experience that he fundamentally couldn’t.

“These two spies were the best deep cover agent and handler that the CIA’s East German Bureau ever produced. They worked together for thirty-seven years and gave the Agency some of its most valuable intel during the height of the Cold War. Who knows how many lives they saved, who knows how many provocative events they foiled in order to maintain the fragile truce? They were also lovers - as deeply committed to each other as they were to the cause for which they fought. _That_ was their strength as assets, despite how the Agency frowned on their relationship.”

Hotch forced himself to appear less interested in this story than he actually was. “How did it work? There must have been conflicts between their missions and their personal lives…”

“Dad said that they were the most brutally frank couple he’d ever met. They sat down and discussed every contingency that they could dream up, no matter how horrible, and they made a plan for each one so there was never any doubt as to how they’d handle it. Their imaginations took care of the paralyzing fear that they might face in those situations - they experienced it and moved through it so that if and when it actually happened, it wasn’t so shocking. They were also very disciplined - they agreed to stick to their contingencies no matter what. They said it was the only way that they could be together and still do the work.”

It sounded impossible to Hotch that any couple could be that regimented. Just the idea of Reid being in danger made him want to act without thinking, even though Reid had gotten out of more than his fair share of trouble without much help. His heart sank as he thought this. How could he continue unless he was controlled? And why would he want to be controlled when it was the _lack_ of it that made their relationship what it was? But beside all of that, was he really considering this - when he could barely get Reid to give him a civil conversation anymore?

“What happened to them?”

“They made it out. Retired to god knows where as old, cranky, former spies. They beat the odds.” Cruz grinned. “Dad told me this because he wanted me to understand that the only thing that prevents us from doing what we want is will. They wanted the work _and_ each other, so they set their wills to that task. Pretty incredible, really.”

“Yes,” Hotch blinked, a little stunned. _Do I have that will?_

“Your agents can have it all if they really want it, Aaron. And there’s nothing that the Bureau can do to stop it. This is a results-based organization. The ‘who, when, where, and how’ often gets forgotten in the scramble for success. You might want to share that with them.”

“I will.” Hotch cleared his throat and rose, stretching his hand out to Cruz. “Thanks for listening, Matt. And for the story.”

“Any time, Aaron.” Cruz shook Hotch’s hand and watched him head for the door. “By the way, the most incredible fact about those two spies was that they were both men.”

Hotch turned on his heel, back plumb line straight.

“Imagine that,” Cruz mused. “During McCarthyism and the Black Lists, bath house raids and before the sexual revolution, the CIA’s top East German spies were a gay couple, and everyone who mattered knew about it.”

Hotch said nothing, just arching an eyebrow at his superior.

“Eighty-five percent of your department is male, Aaron. That’s probably something that we should address during our next hiring blitz,” Cruz paused and then looked down at some papers on his desk as he rifled through them. “Eighty-five percent men, and every female agent is already significantly attached, according to HR records. Is there a reason why you omitted to mention that the involved agents are two men?”

“Their sexual orientation didn’t seem relevant, only their relationship status did.”

“How commendably open-minded of you. But, of course, their orientation is relevant.”

“Why?” Hotch throttled back the defensive impulse that suddenly rose in him.

“Firstly, it’s the Bureau. We practically pioneered institutionalized homophobia. And secondly, fear of being ‘outed’ might hold more power over them than you think. Those CIA guys worked because they didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought of them, and they were good enough to get away with that.” 

Cruz looked up at Hotch again, meaningfully. “If your guys care about public opinion, that means that there is a third person in their relationship. And it also means that they probably won’t last. Maybe you won’t be forced to make a decision about them after all.”

Hotch felt as if the room’s temperature had dropped by twenty degrees. It wasn’t as if that hadn’t already happened; he’d allowed his fear of being labeled to get between he and Reid from the start. Being heterosexual made life easier - there was absolutely no doubt about that. And now he couldn’t help but wonder if he was in denial about his relationship with Reid, or whether he had been in denial his whole adult life. The latter was a mindfuck that he didn’t believe he was sufficiently equipped to face. He decided to focus on getting the hell out of Cruz’s office before his brains started to leak out of his ears.

“It would be a relief not to make a decision about this,” he sighed. “But I don’t imagine that I’ll be that lucky. I’ll keep you apprised, in a sufficiently vague way of course.”

“Of course,” Cruz smiled in sympathy. “Ruling the heart is a fool’s errand. We have more important work to do, don’t we, Aaron?”

“Yes, we do.” He wasn’t sure that he believed that, but what else could he possibly say?


	5. Chapter 5

Reid was moving quickly towards the elevators and Hotch found himself almost jogging to catch up to him. He’d made his decision, and now it was time to see if he could wrestle some authority back into the helpless spin he had made out of this situation. He hoped that he hadn’t left it too long; it seemed like a lifetime since Reid last looked at him with anything other than bitterness.

“Reid, hold up. I need to speak with you.”

Reid’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly before he turned and faced Hotch. “Now’s not good. I’m late for my flight to Arizona. If I don’t leave now, I won’t make the seminar-”

“It’s important, Reid.”

Reid sighed and then pitched his voice lower so that they wouldn’t be overheard. “Is this a professional or personal matter?”

Hotch’s expression tightened as heat rose up his neck.

“That’s what I thought,” Reid murmured. “Which means it’s not important.”

He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.

“You have a case, and I have this conference to get to,” Reid continued. “If it still feels pressing by the time we get back, we can discuss it then. But right now, I really have to go.”

The elevator conveniently dinged and Reid didn’t hesitate as he stepped in punching the floor number and the ‘door close’ button simultaneously. _He can’t wait to get away from you…_

Hotch stepped forward but didn’t block the doors. “It _is_ important.”

“Okay, well… later, then.” 

Reid stared at him blankly until the doors closed and Hotch breathed out hard through his nose. _That could’ve gone better._

But then J.J. was there with a new update on the Pennsylvania case, and he was on the phone to the airstrip telling them that they’d be there in thirty minutes, and Reid was right after all: real life had more pressing concerns. But most importantly, he had no choice but to wait. So much for making decisions and shoehorning authority into them.


	6. Chapter 6

He was bleeding badly. Caught out in the open, in God knows where, alone, one clip down and one back-up left. He was truly and irrevocably fucked. He’d loped as far into the forest as his legs would carry him before he could no longer feel them. When he collapsed, left side of his suit sticky with blood, he’d fished out his phone and miraculously found a signal. Garcia was marshalling the troops as he sat against a tree and focused on breathing. He hoped that they’d get here in time, but hope wasn’t much to base a plan on. And the suspect was still out there somewhere. Hotch only had nine bullets if the asshole caught up with him - he needed to stay conscious enough to make them count.

He tried not to think about Jack. It was just too much to imagine him losing his _other_ parent to murder as well. How would he ever be normal with that kind of memory? Jess would do her best, J.J. and Will and Dave would stay close hoping to make up the loss of innocence with numbers. Christ, had he’d even told Jack that he loved him recently? Had he told him _enough_? 

As he was trying to control the tightness in his chest and the shivering that was overtaking him, another face came into his mind. He’d certainly never told _him_ that he was loved - not even once. But he was, absolutely. He wasn’t here this time - he wouldn’t find out until after it all went down - and Hotch just couldn’t bear leaving him with a lifetime of questions that would go unanswered. A streak of adrenaline, white-hot, scorched down his arm to his fingers as he dialed.

“This isn’t a good time, Hotch. I’m about to go onstage at the conference…”

It felt amazing to hear his voice, even if his tone was pissy.

“Spencer…” His voice was wet and thin, and he coughed almost uncontrollably at the end.

“Hotch? What’s the matter?”

“I’m dying.” 

“No, you’re not. Where are you?” The pissy tone was insistent but doubtful.

“The woods. Shot. It’s bad, Spencer.” The birch trees began to spin slowly. He had to get a move on before all the time he had left was gone.

“I’m calling Garcia-”

“She knows. They’re coming. Just not in time.”

“Aaron… _don’t_.” His voice cracked and it made Hotch smile a little, bolstering him.

“It wasn’t temporary for me either.” He coughed hard and when his hand came away, there was blood in it. “I’m just not as brave as you are. I was so scared about seeing it end… I knew I’d never get past that, and I haven’t.”

“Aaron, please don’t do this. Just… apply pressure, conserve your energy… _please_ …”

“Shoulda fought for you… fought the rules, fought myself… you were worth it.” His voice petered out at the end. His vision was going dark.

“AARON!”

“Worth it, Spence… ‘Member that…”

“I’m not letting it end like this. I’m not letting you go, Aaron-”

But he did - he had no choice as the darkness closed in around Hotch and silenced Reid’s voice.


	7. Chapter 7

He opened his eyes but had to shut them again immediately. The glare was painful and everything was blurred and indistinct. He kept trying, but each time he only managed a split second of reality before he had to retreat again. It seemed safer in his forced darkness.

“Nurse? Nurse, could you call somebody?”

The voice seemed familiar but when he opened his eyes, all he could make out was a dark blob. He blinked and strained, and then he felt how useless he was. Pain pinned him down, nailing him to wherever he was with great throbbing arcs that made him want to stop breathing. He tried to cry out but all that happened with a strangled wheeze.

“Hey, Aaron. Settle down, okay? You need to do this in baby steps, buddy…”

The blob drew closer and even through the pain he felt warmth encircle his arm.

“Where…” He managed to add his voice to the wheeze this time but then hitched as his left side objected.

“I’m serious. You need to calm down - you’re not doing yourself any favors here. Quit being such a pain in the ass… I know it’s a stretch, but try.”

Dave. No one else would ever speak to him that way.

“Where…” he tried again.

“Hospital. This is Day 5. The doctors said you were supposed to die three days ago. Guess you showed them, huh?”

“Jack?”

“He’s okay. He’s with Jess and we told him that you were going to be away a little longer than expected. We needed to see how this worked out before we told him the truth.”

Hotch tried to make an affirmative sound letting Dave know that he appreciated the consideration, but it sent a jackknife of pain along his left side. Dave soothed him quietly while Hotch tried to breathe and blink at the same time.

“Reid?” he finally sputtered when the pain ebbed again.

“Uh… he takes the night shift. He’ll be back in a few hours…”

Hotch could tell from Rossi’s tone that he didn’t see the importance of the question.

“Need… see…” he gasped and gritted his teeth against another spike of pain. “Tell him…”

“Okay,” Rossi shushed. “But all of this can wait until the doctor has seen you and we can do something about the pain your in, alright? Jesus, Aaron, just calm down - the world won’t end in the next thirty minutes… just _lie_ there.”

“Ah, hello Agent Hotchner.” Another blob entered his vision. “It’s good to see you awake at last. Perhaps now we can convince your colleagues to stop camping out in our waiting room…”

“I wouldn’t count on that, doc,” Rossi growled.

“Well, let’s see what we can do to help you out, shall we?”

Hotch lay still and let the doctor blob fuss over him. The only thing he was concerned with was how quickly night would fall.


	8. Chapter 8

When he woke again, it was blissfully dim. A minimum of light from the machines around his bed tinted the room in a muted, blue-green glow that only managed to highlight the edges of things. He saw the bed rail, the pitcher of water on a tray off to his right, and next to that, a chair with the crumpled form of Spencer Reid curled uncomfortably into it. Reid was sleeping, neck canted at a crazy angle designed to give him pain when he woke up. Hotch watched him in stillness, letting the silence of the moment work on his lingering pain. He thought about the times that insomnia had got the better of him and found himself watching Reid sleep beside him. It somehow made the anxiety he felt about it less worrisome when he’d stretched his hands inside Reid’s rumpled t-shirt and pulled him into his chest, all warm and connected…

Reid’s eyelids fluttered and then he turned with a soft groan for his neck before he caught Hotch staring. Suddenly he was alert and pulling his chair closer to the bed.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Not long.” Hotch’s voice sounded like ground glass, and Reid quickly fetched him some water and forced him to drink. “Good to see you.”

Reid laughed and it sounded awful: angry and scared and disbelieving.

“Not being dismissive,” Hotch tried again. “Mean it.”

Reid stared at him long enough for an unsettling thought to occur to him. “Am I dying?”

“No,” Reid sighed deeply. “But you shouldn’t be here. All of the doctors agree on that.”

“Why?”

“You were hit four times: three in the chest, once in the abdomen. One of the bullets shattered some ribs and bone shards became embedded in your left lung. They had to remove some - about twenty percent.”

“That explains the chest pain…”

“You’ll adjust to the compromised capacity, but it will take some time. The wound to your abdomen required surgery and while they were doing it, they found a significant blockage - probably from the surgery after Foyet attacked you. Eventually, it would’ve turned septic and you would’ve dropped dead somewhere. So, whether you got shot or not, it would’ve been bad for you.”

Reid seemed unable to continue, so he focused on his feet instead.

“Spencer,” Hotch stretched his hand, palm up, across the bed and waited for Reid to meet his eyes. “I meant what I said. On the phone.”

“Were you listening? You were going to die whether this happened or not. The doctors said that you should’ve been experiencing pain from it already… why didn’t you say anything? _Do_ anything?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why didn’t he _do_ something? Hotch felt a soothing calm fall over him as something he didn’t know he was capable of suddenly fell into place. “What would you have done if I died?”

“What?!?”

“Tell me. Be specific. I was shot while on a case. I died in the woods… tell me.”

“What… why?”

“Work through it, Spencer.” Hotch waited and gave Reid a look that said he meant business.

“I-I…” Reid seemed lost, swallowing hard, and Hotch despaired that this would actually work. Maybe neither of them was strong enough… “I’d work the case with the others, no matter what anyone said. I’d work it until we caught him. Then… I’d t-take some time - I’d need privacy for when it finally hit me and I ended up sobbing like a child…”

Hotch watched Reid’s throat work and felt unworthy of the effort he was making.

“After that, I’d go back to work - because it matters and it would matter to you that I did - and I’d be a friend to Jack. I’d keep my memories of you for him, for when he had questions… someday he’ll need to know things that he can’t know now.”

Hotch was overwhelmed: he never thought that Reid would take responsibility for Jack. His vision blurred a little as he tried to breathe deeply without aggravating his healing lung. “Could you actually do all of that?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I couldn’t, Aaron.” He sounded so much stronger than he had just moments before. “Why did you make me do that?”

Hotch smiled and allowed himself to sink into the pillows slightly. “When I’m better… remind me to tell you a story about… two Cold War CIA agents…”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ve never been honest with you. About this. About what I wanted all along,” Hotch stumbled - this was less gracious than he had hoped. “I want you. Always have. From that first night in the scary motel room. It’s not temporary. Shoulda told you. Shoulda done so many things…”

He took a beat to normalize his breathing. His left side hurt so damned much, but this was too important to wait any longer. “So… if you can still stomach me… forgive me… I’m ready to do this, for real. In front of everyone. I’m not scared anymore. Well… I am scared… but I’m more scared of losing you.”

Reid blinked rapidly in the dark, staring at Hotch’s open palm. “Aaron… t-this isn’t something you decide after-”

“Spencer,” Hotch wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand until, slowly, Reid reached out to meet them. “The only thing that ever stopped me was will. I finally found that will. I made up my mind before this case. That day, at the elevator… it really was important.”

“Jesus!” Reid breathed.

“You’ve made me feel unstoppable.”

“This is… this is just nuts.”

“Why?”

“You… you always acted so ashamed. So guilty. And now you say…” His voice fell away, disbelieving. “Y-you’ll tell Jack?”

Hotch nodded.

“And come out to the team?”

“Away from work, but, yes.”

Reid seemed to think it over for several minutes. “They’ll make one of us transfer out of the unit.”

Hotch could hear the rhythm of his heart monitor accelerate, and smiled. “No, they won’t. Not if my plan works. And it will.”

“You have _a plan?_ Since when?”

“I do. We have a lot to talk about, Spence. As soon as I can manage… more than sentence fragments.” Hotch squeezed Reid’s fingers.

“Well, that’ll be something,” Reid huffed and then squeezed back. “ _You_ insisting that we have to talk through all of this. I guess if you want something bad enough, you eventually get it, huh?”

Hotch wasn’t convinced of that, but in this case, at least, it seemed to be true.


	9. Chapter 9

Hotch felt ninety years old and about as heavy as a Mack truck as he and Rossi slowly shuffled towards the hospital exit together. At fifty-one, he was far too old to keep dealing with being shot at, stabbed, or otherwise generally assaulted. If only he could’ve satisfied his pesky hero complex by remaining in the Federal Prosecutor’s Office or by being a defense attorney…

“You must feel like a kid on the last day of school right now,” Rossi smirked as he nodded to the exit doors that were slowly getting closer. Three weeks was a long time to spend in this sterile, regimented environment, but his injuries were serious. He had things to look forward to now and thus forced himself to take it slow. The only thing that kept him calm about the length of time it was taking him to recover were the long talks that he and Reid had each night in his hospital room.

“I haven’t breathed unfiltered air in almost a month,” he wheezed a little and gave Rossi smirk in return. “I could drop dead the moment I take in my first, polluted gasp out there.”

“Fantastic. I can finally get my hands on your parking spot.” Rossi chuckled but didn’t hurry them along. Hotch sensed him working up to something and wasn’t surprised when he launched into it a moment later. “So, you and the kid are talking again, huh?”

“I had nothing but time on my hands. And, apparently, my personality isn’t so toxic that he’d prefer to see me dead.”

“No one would prefer to see you dead, Aaron,” Rossi said quietly.

Hotch straightened his shoulders and nodded once. “We’re working it out.”

“Good.”

They reached the exit and then stepped out into the brightness with a whoosh of automatic doors. They stood together and let the sun fall across them. Hotch closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. He smiled when his chest didn’t fight him on it.

“Can I ask you something and get a no bullshit answer from you?” Rossi turned and waited for Hotch to nod his agreement. “Do you love him?” 

Hotch swallowed hard against the knife’s edge of fear that suddenly spiked through him. He beat it back and called up the image of the man he wanted to be, the man that he was slowly _willing_ into existence. He nodded once, definitively, and stared back at Rossi.

“Good,” he murmured again, and said nothing more.

“How long have you known?”

“I wouldn’t qualify it as ‘knowledge’ exactly, but I’ve suspected it for some time. Reid’s done things over the years that would drive any boss nuts, but you’ve always taken it in stride. When you two started going at each other like feral cats recently, I figured something had changed along the way.”

“You’re not…” Hotch didn’t know which negative reaction to go with first.

“Shocked? Disgusted? Betrayed? Disappointed?” Rossi sighed and shook his head. “Jesus, Aaron, it’s almost like you think we haven’t been friends for twenty years or something.”

“But, this is… a big thing to keep hidden. Especially from a friend.”

“Listen, I know you loved Haley and I saw how you tried to make that work, but discovering that you _actually_ prefer a certain smart, skinny GUY isn’t as big a shock to me as you’d think.” He gave Hotch one of those patented Rossi cockeyed stare downs. “This is huge for you, I realize that, and thank you for being honest with me. But really, I’m okay with whoever you want to be, just so long as your choice makes you happy.”

“It does,” Hotch croaked. “He does.”

“I know.” Rossi shrugged and turned towards the parking lot. “It’s hard not to like Reid.”

Hotch followed him, still a bit stunned by how smoothly his first ‘talk’ had turned out.

“Are you worried about work?” Rossi said over his shoulder as they approached his Jag.

Hotch just cocked at eyebrow at him.

“Okay, that was a stupid question. As a frequent visitor to the 37b detention room, allow me to say ‘Welcome to the club’.”

“Gee, that makes me feel so much better. But I think I have a workable plan for that.”

“Really?” Rossi looked at him over the roof of his car with renewed interest. “Because if you do, I expect you to share that little nugget with the rest of the class…”

Hotch found himself laughing. “If I told you, I’d get fired for sure, and I’m not giving up that parking space without a fight, Dave.”


	10. Chapter 10

“You don’t want to kill her,” Reid said calmly as he stared down the gunman and his shrieking hostage.

“Oh, yeah? Why not?” 

The guy pressed his gun into the woman’s temple, which caused her to scream even more. She was just helpless at this point - too ruled by terror to be of any use to anyone, least of all herself. Reid pitied her a little and then set it aside; he had work to do.

“Because she’s no one. If you kill her and die in the resulting shootout, nobody will remember it… not after the evening news cycle anyway. And you _want_ to be remembered, don’t you? I can tell… Look at what you did to get our attention…”

Reid felt Hotch beside him, his body focused through the sight of his 9mm. His whole being was dedicated to the next few minutes and what he had to do in them. Reid trusted that deadly focus as much as Hotch trusted Reid’s ability to talk. He had to - this wouldn’t work any other way.

“She’s what I got,” the gunman growled. “And I will be remembered…”

“Not if you kill a soccer mom.” Reid gestured casually to the hostage squirming six feet in front of him. “But if you kill an FBI agent… a member of an elite profiling division… well…”

“You gonna take her place? You’re just tricking me.” The gunman laughed hollowly.

“Whether I am or not, letting her go and taking me automatically makes you noteworthy. Can you really pass that up?”

He thought for a moment as his hostage finally regained a modicum of survival instinct and stopped aggravating him. Then, without warning he thrust her at Hotch and reached out to yank Reid in his grip instead. The hostage began screaming again and Hotch threw her off, shoving her to the field agent behind him as he re-acquired his target with a grunt. Now Reid was staring calmly at Hotch’s finger on the trigger. He didn’t move, didn’t bat an eyelash. He breathed slowly and raised his hands as he felt the gun mussel against his temple. Then he looked Hotch straight in the eye.

“Congratulations. You’ll definitely become a Bureau teaching case now.”

“Yeah, well, so will you, you arrogant shit…” The gunman twisted slightly so that he could see the look on Reid’s face. Reid lifted his arms a little higher: now Hotch had everything he needed.

“No, I won’t,” Reid murmured a split second before Hotch fired. A bullet ripped through the raised sleeve of his suit coat and into the gunman’s chest. He was dead before he hit the floor.

The shot brought other agents swarming into the room, bleeding off the unused excitement of the standoff by making as much noise as possible. Hotch came to stand next to Reid, shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the dead UnSub.

“You okay?” he wheezed.

“I’m fine,” Reid mumbled back and lightly brushed the edge of his hand against Hotch’s at his side. “I’ll meet you back at the office?”

“Good,” Hotch grumbled and then began ordering agents and crime scene techs around as Reid headed back to the unit to start his paperwork.

~~~~

It was hours before Hotch made it back to the unit and when he did, he went directly into his office and didn’t emerge. Reid gave him thirty minutes, and when he still didn’t show his face, he rose from his desk with a sigh. He didn’t knock or ask permission first, he just walked into Hotch’s lair and gently closed the door behind him.

Hotch was leaning on the edge of his desk, his hands gripping the rim, contemplating his shoes. He didn’t look up when Reid walked towards him, but he finally met his eyes when Reid skimmed the line of his jaw with a finger.

“Are you okay?” Hotch whispered eventually. 

Reid sighed and got close enough that Hotch would be able to feel the heat of him from waist to shoulders. “What’s the rule?”

“You get to ask once, and then you put the incident behind you. I know…” Hotch nodded.

Reid smiled and then bent to kiss his temple. “And you already asked. These are _your_ rules, remember?”

“Yeah, I did. But I’m asking again.” He skimmed his lips along Reid’s throat making him shake a little.

“Well then, I guess I’m not okay. You shot a hole in my favorite jacket.”

Hotch laughed quietly against his throat and then Reid pulled him to his mouth and allowed him to bleed off some of his tension that way. He pressed their bodies together until Hotch’s arms cranked around his ribs and he whimpered. Reid’s hands tugged at Hotch’s collar letting him nip along his jaw and down the line of his carotid.

“I know what needs to happen here…” He sucked Hotch’s throat until he hissed and arched into Reid’s chest.

“Paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork.”

“Noooooo,” Reid growled. “I know you better than that, 37b. I feel a violation coming on and I offer you my services in that regard. Here, or at home - it’s your choice.”

Hotch swore brutally into his skin and then kissed him, hard. His hands rucked at Reid’s shirt until an end came loose and he skimmed his hand up along his back pinching and needing with too much intensity. 

“I need you…” Hotch whimpered.

“I know,” Reid gasped and bit Hotch’s neck. “Tell me what…”

“Your mouth.”

“Okay.” He yanked Hotch from his desk. “Couch. Now.”

Tangled and only half-stripped, they sank into Hotch’s uncomfortable sofa where Reid sucked and licked and teased until Hotch came in a messy frenzy. He arched under Reid’s mouth, hands knotted in his hair, exorcising the last of the day’s tension with muffled cries into the cushions. Then he pulled Reid into his chest and worked him hard until he came with one grateful, silent gasp and a stickiness that Hotch took his time licking away afterwards. They settled against each other, arms drifting over wrinkled clothing and heated skin in lazy fits and starts.

“Don’t we have a rule about this too?” Reid murmured finally.

“Yes: never at the office. Oh well, I guess that secret’s out.”

“I’m pretty sure that secret’s been out for a while. They probably think that we’ve been getting it on in here for years…”

“Not on this sofa,” Hotch muttered and stretched to a more comfortable position.

“You could always buy a new couch.”

“That would be too tempting.” Hotch drew Reid to him with a finger under his chin, and he moaned when Reid opened up, giving him everything he wanted. When Reid eventually pulled away, he couldn’t help but smile at the goofy, slightly lovesick expression Hotch wore. Not a scowl in sight.

“Well, I’m sorry for being unprofessional, but it seemed like it couldn’t wait. You were in the zone again…”

Hotch sighed and traced the edges of Reid’s fingers across his chest. “I thought talking through every nightmare scenario we could dream up would make things easier…”

“I don’t think that was ever the point. At least, that’s not what _I_ got from that story.”

“So, what was the point?” 

“They were always gonna be scared - always. But you can be scared and still move through it. _That_ was what those spies were working on. It was never going to get easier though.”

Hotch stared. “You were so calm today.”

“That’s ‘cause I have a tremendous amount of faith in you. I know that you may lose it, but you never lose it _in the moment_ , and that’s when it counts the most. Besides,” Reid gave Hotch a sly smile. “I enjoy being the recipient of your freak outs. After the fact.”

Hotch reached for him and traced his fingertips over Reid’s brow, cheeks, jaw, and lips. Reid let him do it, watching things ripple across his features while he did. When one of Hotch’s thumbs drifted over his lips, Reid sucked it in quickly; catching Hotch’s attention, and then giving it a soft bite before letting it go again.

“How have you become this… indispensable person to me?” Hotch whispered. “Where the hell did you come from?”

“Nevada,” Reid answered without skipping a beat, and then he cupped his jaw and kissed him. “Come on, let’s go home. You’re safe to be around Jack now…”

“Paperwork…” Hotch grumbled.

“It can wait. I nearly died today, and you shot a guy. The Bureau will cut us some slack about leaving early, even if we did break all the social mores of 1930s America by screwing in your office.”

“We really shouldn’t have done that. We managed to adhere to that rule for over a year. It’s not wise to thumb our noses at Cruz’s willful denial - it won’t last forever.”

“But we screwed so _quietly_ , Aaron…” he smiled.

Hotch smirked. God, Reid loved it when he smirked… “Your sarcasm will be the death of me.”

Reid got up from the sofa with a grateful moan, and then held his hand out to help Hotch do the same. “Whoa, well, we’d better talk that one through because I don’t think we have a plan in place for _that_ contingency.”

“Oh, there’s a plan, alright. It’s called ‘Spencer stops being such a consummate smartass’.”

“Yeah. That sounds improbable.” Reid readjusted his clothes. “We’d better check the insurance policy when we get home and see if it pays out for death-by-sarcasm. Just in case.”

Hotch made a frustrated noise and then came up behind Reid, biting his neck lightly. “Come on. If we’re cutting out early, we’d better do it now before my compromised post-coital glow wears off, or the Bureau invents a new regulation preventing it.”


	11. Chapter 11

When Cruz looked at the number on his call display and saw the Director’s extension, he groaned loudly and began to run through the list of issues that could’ve leaked out of his office. He let the call ring twice before he shrugged into his appealing bureaucrat persona, and picked up the receiver.

“Good morning, Director.”

“Good morning, Mateo. How’s the family?”

“Happy and healthy, sir. I can’t complain. And yours?” _Could you get to the point, please?_

“Oh, fine, just fine, thank you. Matt, I hear that we have a 37b scenario playing out in Behavioral Analysis.”

Cruz let a moment pass in lieu of the shock that he was attempting to mimic. “Really? I haven’t heard anything about that. And I certainly haven’t _seen any paperwork_ filed about it either…”

“It was an anonymous tip sent directly to my office.”

“Ah. So, this call is _unofficial_ then…” Cruz wanted all the cards on the table. He wasn’t going to launch into a Bureau witch hunt based on some disgruntled jerk’s water cooler rumors. 

The Director coughed across the line. “Are you suggesting that this isn’t serious?”

“I’m suggesting that if the tip had merit, there’d be paperwork to back it up. And I’m sure that my office would’ve been informed, as a matter of protocol…” Cruz knew the Director loved protocols. “Though, if the tip is enough to prompt you to call me, I’ll certainly look into it for you, sir.”

“I was hoping you would feel that way, Matt.”

“Of course, sir. Regulations must be followed, even if they might compromise productivity.”

There was a beat of silence across the line. “How do you mean?”

“Well, sir, the latest numbers my office has gathered suggest that the BAU case closure rate is the highest in the Bureau, and that the current collection of agents in that department have success metrics that were only surpassed by the numbers produced in the Gideon/Rossi era. Should a case of 37b be uncovered in that department, any participants may be asked to transfer out, quit, or possibly be terminated as a result of the investigation, thus altering the delicate work balance of that unit. As you know, teams take time to gel, to produce results…”

Cruz leaned back in his chair and smiled. Let the meddling bastard mull that one over before he so gleefully ordered others to peek under the sheets of another department. The way the Bureau clung to this regulation, you’d think that the most elite police organization in the world was staffed entirely by prudish virgins.

“Yes. I hear your concern here, Matt, and I share it.”

 _I bet you do._ Now, Cruz just had to offer him a face-saving alternative.

“Well, since this complaint isn’t official and there isn’t any paperwork on it, perhaps I could conduct an investigation ‘unofficially’ as well?” And ‘officially’ find nothing. “If the complaint bears out, we will proceed as we must. If not, I’ll just have gotten to know the agents in that department a little better, I suppose.”

Cruz chuckled amiably, as if he’d enjoy the time suck immensely.

“Yes. Perhaps that’s the way to go. Discretion might be an ally in such a delicate situation, and there’s no need to disturb unit cohesion if the allegation proves baseless.”

“Exactly, sir.”

“I’ll leave it with you, Matt. Keep me updated if things progress.”

“I will, sir, but I _assume_ that you’ll only wish to be informed if the investigation needs to become ‘official’?”

“Yes, Mateo.” The Director’s tone got icy, as if the idea had been his all along and Cruz just wasn’t grasping it. “I trust that you can make that decision on your own.”

“Very good, sir. Thank you for calling.”

The Director hung up and Cruz waited until he heard a dial tone before calling his boss a douchebag. At this level in the bureaucracy, you couldn’t trust anyone to come at you without an agenda in mind. That’s part of the reason why he had a soft spot for people like Aaron Hotchner who, although he kept his emotions hidden, usually presented as a straight shooter. And his unit’s case closure numbers were spectacular. Cruz just wished that he’d stop screwing Dr. Reid in his office; they’d been so good about keeping it all on the DL for over a year now. If he’d known that snotty calls from the Director of the FBI were in his future when he’d made up that Cold War spy story, he’d have tweaked it accordingly. Maybe he’d have to march down to Hotch’s office and make up a coda for it in order to get his point across. _Do what you like, Aaron, just keep it out of the building._

Cruz turned back to his computer and decided that he’d wasted more than enough of his day on this matter. The regulation was stupid, the Director was a busybody, he had a metric ton of work to get to, and the Bureau would survive a couple of agents getting their freak on. Investigation: closed. He had much more important matters to attend to than foolishly attempting to rule the hearts of men.


End file.
